


Pit Stop

by Kasan_Soulblade



Category: Mario Kart - Fandom, Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, more to be added - Freeform, the koopas make bad choices, the results get televised
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasan_Soulblade/pseuds/Kasan_Soulblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because there were races, and then there were races.</p><p>Sometimes it wasn't the dive for the finish line that made the day, but the stories of the sidelines.</p><p>A series of unrelated whimsical Mario kart inspired silliness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Pits, Koopa side

Mario Kart ficlets

Pit stop

 

 

When talking about Dad’s kart, and bikes… well they learned a lot of things fast. Things the other pit crew (quitter crew) had made a point not to mention.

The first rule of the Koopa Pits was don’t acknowledge the… mass of the vehicle or the person in it. Words like weight, heavy, and encumbrance were out. They couldn’t eve use them back in the castle after Morton had gone on and on about it and gotten a smacked head for his trouble.

As for why the the big wig words were out to describe their first problem … well Iggy might have used them enough for Dad to get curious, and the fit he’d had after had been…

Well let’s say it was properly proportionate to a Koopa King his size.

The second design snag, beside specialized frame work, was the seating. It wasn’t something they’d really thought of, the indigent had been one of those “oops we messed up post facto”, or rather if you were Jr. and Larry (Suck ups. Daddy boys. So’d Roy’d jeered, tossing himself in their midst –making the couch groan-while snapping up a clawfull of popcorn from their bowl) well they got to have the feeling live.

“Well Dad did get second.” Jr. grumbled, if he pinched the invaders hand well it was justified, he needed it out of the way to sprinkle the salty nacho flavoring. “We should be proud.”

“Yeah, and plumber boy got first.” Roy groused, setting glasses in place he tried to sneak another (the other) claw in. Larry “accidentally” salted the limb making Roy pull it out and shake it sharply. “Guys, seriously!”

“Do we look like sharey-wary Toadies, cuz none of those are here.” Larry sneered at Roy, reaching into the bowl, only to find that it’d been moved.

The tussle of claws and semi spiked shells (and flying popcorn) went up as Koopalings wrestled and rolled onto the floor. Larry had Roy down, and was trying his hot pink glasses on when Jr. took the top. But then Jr. cheated better then all of them and was attacking tickle points like no one’s business, still a parting swipe as he went down almost took the TV out of commission. A scramble, fight forgotten, got it right and when Jr. took advantage of their standstill to step on both his older brother’s feet and neither responded he finally got what was on the TV.

Aware ceremony, Dad, second place, he knew that, but what sounded next sorta unhinged every thought after it.

The commentary on the television was going into glowing (snicker filled) detail about King Koopa, and how he was stuck because his spikes had gone through the padding of his own chair.

“Whose idea was it to double pad the chair back?” Roy whispered.

On scream the turtle flailed, one clawed arm wrapped about the frame of his door, and even that amount of leverage wasn’t enough to wrench him free.

Second place (some Toad) was bent over giggling, while first place was obviously weighing the pros and cons of going over to offer a hand. Clearly the threats (a string of unbroken bleeps from the censors) from the kart were enough to leave the red clad plumber on the side of don’t.

“Mmm…” Jr. sucked on a fang as he thought. “How about Iggy, big brain’s been a pain, yeah?”

“A big pain.” Roy agreed.

“Epically big.” Larry chimed in.

Dilemma passed Roy snapped up some popcorn and chowed down, then seeing they weren’t even paying attention to the bowl claimed the lot as finder keepers and tried not to think about koopa troopa on their backs and unable to get back up. Or how good Dad’s impersonation of one was going.

“This is gunna be all over the web.” Larry noted, nipping on his claw tips. “Remember last time that happened?”

Cloud Nine media was still trying to sue the Koopa Kingdom for all those damages, they tried four times a year actually.

“Hopefully Dad doesn’t figure out how to get online again.” Jr agreed. “Should we… umm password things up again?”

“Too much effort.” Roy drawled. “Pass the salt shrimpy.”

Jr did, then realized only after he’d passed up the shaker where the popcorn had gone too.

“Hey!”


	2. King Boo and Bowser part one

Pit stop

Chapter 2

King Boo and Bowser part one, Phasing Failure

The cackle and crackle proclaimed to one and all there was a visit by Big Boo. Spooktacular entity that he was he’d also make the lights flicker and dim, rattle chains and the like… Save in the garage there weren’t really any chains to rattle and touching either vehicles or tool boxes usual meant that when he materialized he’d find a wrench or hammer flying towards his face.

So it was flickering lights and ominous chortling then.

His audience of two, well one really, the other a wild haired koopaling with headphones squishing his rainbow locks and making him deaf to the world (scrunched up eyes and humming mad him blind and offensive as well), looked up from a blue print.

“Trying to convert the KoopaKopter again?” Big Boo chuckled. “They haven’t cleared the tracks for flying yet. Remember.”

Red eyes thinned, and if they could, well the Koopa King’s spikes would have bristled in irritation at the very unwelcome reminder. He’d been disqualified for two weeks of races because he had the genius to fly in with his Kopter with a Kart painted on its side. The judges had claimed it audacity, but his plan’d been a good one, the painting was one of Iggy’s better works. As it was, his spikes were stuck sticking out of his shell so they couldn’t bristle. Bowser snorted, a “None of your business.” And though it was likely something Jr. would have done he splayed his paws over the plans and no matter how Boo nattered and whined wouldn’t lift a claw.

With a huffed, “you’re no fun,” save in ghost speak and with a boo pun in it somewhere the Big Boo floated to a wall. A tinny clatter marked where he’d been, as did his crown. With a grumble a rather fin like lib phased into the room, and Bowser watch, smile growing wider and wider as the crown was rolled along the wall, about the room and to a door. When it ws gone, and only when it wsa gone did he unleash a roaring bwahaha, because seriously, that’d been the funniest thing since breakfast this morning.

Humming along to a deafening whatever he was listening too Iggy was oblivious to it all.

As for Bowser, well had Iggy opened his eyes he’d of been worried, because his Dad had the “planning look” that lead to princess abductions and castles being totaled by irate plumbers.

Totally gone from the world and singing along now because the song was just that awesome, Iggy didn’t have a worry to his name so Bowser was able to plan unbothered by “what ifs” and “Are you sure that’s a good idea”s ruining his mood.


	3. Chapter 3

Pit stop

chapter 3

 

Bowsers castle, home of thwomps, grey stone, and burning pits of lava.

Also home of vindictive grudges being played out.

So said the announcer when the races started and two particular plumbers spun out, and called foul, crying that the wheels of their bikes were oiled or some such.

The other races, more interested in racing than righteousness carried on, never noticing the uproar.

As for King Boo, well he felt a particular hostility towards his ectoplasmatic self quite early on.

Such were the joys of blue shells he supposed, and being in first place. When that had happened the first time he’d of considered it the luck of placing and the malice of some loser in the back. He’d faded out, watched his kart spin out and then drifted down and after it. The few screams from those who passed him were quite pleasing, and though trite indeed he’d faded back into his seat and slung the seatbelt on then got back into the spirit of things.

He suspected it was going to be one of _those_ days when Koopa Troopa, who’d been quite content to stay in first looked upon some device on his dashboard, craned his neck to make sure that whatever it showed him was really true. Their eyes met and with a resigned sigh the green turtle hit the brakes and from a tug got the other door open. Before Boo could even slow to ask what or why… well out fluttered a blue shell, little wings all frantic and fluttering…

“If it’s any consolation this’ll hurt me more than you.” Was all the resigned turtle said, scrunching his eyes shut with a grimace.

Then the blue shell went up and the world was lost in a billowing storm of blue and flying scales and only when the smoke cleared (and a familiar rough voice roared “so long losers!”) did all the facts fall in place with a frightful clatter.

The thwomps, how selective they’d been… Missing other racers, aiming for him. And then that last thwomp, by the finish line first lap, how when it landed it had refused to lift up until he was in last place.

Sliding into his car, a click told him the seatbelt was sorta right (it never was just right, but such was the joy of having a sphere for a body) Boo pulled away from the dazzled Troopa who was staggering in the right direction towards his car and found last lap, eleventh place was not the place for him. He’d take first thank you, and any spiked turtles in the way were going to be in for a spooktacular time of it.

Luck was with him, one item box gifted him a golden mushroom, and though dangerous he’d used it, some ramps and while not first he was nearing. The smoking tires from where he’d skipped over a lava pit were entirely coincidental and easily ignored with one’s goal nearing. The toad in second managed a scream but the joys of having such a light frame was in overcompensating with the frame of one’s vehicle. In short, Toad, meet kart, enjoy impact and wall after.

Ranting about bananas and why him Bowser tossed a peal over his shoulder, chewing absently. Snack on the go done, he saw the line, straightening, mane all perked up, he gripped handle bars a little tighter.

A thump and cut off cackle as ghost met thwomp was music to his ears.

The immediately following chill and hissed “Boo” against his ear was not.

Having faded out last second and faded back into existence before his phasing could affect his momentum, Boo’d found an alternate way to go fast. It was only a temporary means, not enough to beat Bowser to the line, but then plans changed. Ignoring the roar of protest Boo gripped horns and caused the Koopa King to tilt his head, driven by instinct to set his body to match the path of his head his hands followed suit. It was only for a fraction of a second, but when going over grate pitted with holes a second was enough. One went into the lava, the other floated over it, then after some thought drifted over to his totaled vehicle and began to wheel it over to the finish line.

It came apart a few inches in his task, and on a lark Boo simply snapped up some small bit and drifted over the finish line. Unlikely, he’d earned eleventh place fair and square but he’d technically crossed the line with some of his kart.

That was something.

But the best thing, was watching the Koopa King with his quite literally Flame Rider cross the line. At a waddle. Because rubber just sort of dissolved under lava and wasn’t that just too bad?


	4. E. Gadd and Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh while playing with my favorite... well one of my favorites I had an idea between one penguin spin out and another, this was the result. Enjoy.

Ectoplasm was a curious substance, when it mixed with the material it was even curiouser. There were many results, a faint moon pale glow, a sense of surreallness to a place even if it was without glow, shadows would deepen and… well it made chains rattle. No one knew why, even boos with no interest in chains found them rattling if they drifted by a set often enough.

E. Gadd so proclaimed these facts to the “ooh”ing and “aah”ing toads that had joined him, many with candles and flashlights and coats… there was no shortage of coats about his most peculiar road bump… hump… lump… about the faintly mumbling not-snow-span of white upon the arctic tracks.

It was well past race time, there was a shortage of fire flowers, thus the bulbous road _whatever_ had been left to gather snow while one was fetched.

It went beyond saying there was no rush, and only the flapping of nearly snow pinned limbs had kept Gadd’s find from fully freezing in place.

“Now, disregarding the crown, we can tell this specimen is a King Boo by looking at his fang length, now as it’s pinned we can’t see said fangs, and my goodness they are a frightful sight, but you can deduce something of their size, first by the spittle… well frozen now, guess that’s not good… and of course the gashes where it’s tried to talk.. into the ice.”

“Does… well does anyone know what it’s saying?” Queried one fright filled voice in the back.

It was hard to tell if the chatter was from cold or from fear, considering the temperature most were saying it was the cold. This particular toad, the one who’d spoken would have broken that trend, considering something red (maybe an eye) had canted up in his direction, and if gazes could melt icebergs they’d of lost the polar cap, his very real fear was quite justified.

As was the fact he was sliding one foot behind the other, and scooting a mite to the side so the glare was clipping him and not hitting him head one.

“Well heavens…” Gadd blinked looking down at the flailing King Boo. “Have you been saying something all along dear chap? I didn’t quite mean to be ignoring you… but well, paintings you understand.” A watery smile as the Professor’s comment elicited more flapping. Figuring it might be important the old toad slipped about the caught boo, minding the plastered to ice tongue though someone spiteful might have stepped on it. Certainly many had run over it if the tire tracks meant anything. “Was there something on your mind?”

“Bleh blah gllg…”

“I’m sorry I can’t quite make out what you’re saying.”

Some tittering ensued from the bravest of the gathered, in the distance a particularly nocturnal penguin slipped and slid on the ice, all the while Gadd waited, and was rewarded with some drooling and flap flapping of one arm. The other had frozen down it seemed.

“Well I _am_ sorry,” none present doubted the insincerity of the statement. “But I suppose since your mother isn’t about to say this I must mention; you should mind where you put your tongue, and most particularly when and where you stick it out.”

“Gllrglg!”

“Accidents could happen you know.”

The following scream was more slobber than anything else, still it articulated death and portriatification, and perhaps hanging in some dank well hated corner of some desolated mansion in the future.  For the present, well E. Gadd smiled, and was quite happy to know that there wouldn't be another fire flower shipment to the tracks for a week or so.  Plenty of time to do research, then skip town.

And lucky for him, but not Boo, he had all the proper tools for his research, and none of them would be hindered by a few inches of ice.


End file.
